Before the Closet
by Rogue Cnidarian
Summary: Wanton, er, destruction of property. DanielJanet; humour.
1. Before the Closet

**Rating/warnings, etc:** adult, not explicit. ~800 words.  
**Summary:** Wanton destruction of property sex.  
**Disclaimer:** Merely playing in the sandbox.

**A/N:** Er, yes. This _may_ have happened to me once. The landlord was not impressed.  
Havoc - I know it's not quite 'aliens made them do it' but it's a step in the right direction.  
Does anyone mind that the P-whatever planet code is just random button-bashing? No? Good.

xxxxx

It was the latest SGC mystery. People speculated on it in the commissary and the gym and on quieter missions, but no-one could figure it out.

Daniel fully intended to keep it that way.

xxxxx

A hand latched on to his arm, altering his course.

"Janet? How long have you been back?"

She merely took a moment to look up and flash him a smile before returning to her focussed negotiation of the corridor.

"How was P3—?" He started, then switched to the more pertinent question. "Where are we going?"

"Showers. I really need a wash." She indicated her slightly grubby fatigues. Then she dropped her voice to a whisper, "And I've _really_ got to get you out of those clothes. For purely medical reasons, of course."

Fortunately it was pretty late, the SGC running on a skeleton crew, so no-one saw him being hauled around by a hundred-pound woman. _Or the two of us entering the officers' washroom_, he added as they barrelled through the doors.

"Ah, are you ok?" he asked, concerned by her fervour. He was all for spur-of-the-moment passion, but it was a rule set down very early in their relationship that nothing was to occur on base. All he could do was watch as she found a narrow pole – _had she _planned_ this!_ - and slotted it through the door handles, locking them inside.

"Yes, why?" she inquired mildly as she started removing her gear.

"Just…" he gestured around them. "Base?"

Down to her underwear, she stepped closer, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Fourth, please."

_Oh Lord._

He didn't resist – though he was tempted to ask who she was and what she'd done with Janet Fraiser – when she reached for his fly. As she unbuttoned his shirt, she told him about the grateful inhabitants of P3C-984 and how they'd thrown a bit of a party in honour of their guests. The last performance before the team had gated back had been a fairly complicated dance, apparently designed to invoke the deity responsible for fertility.

She ran a fingertip around the inside of his boxer waistband. "When Rothman translated, he seemed pretty vague. I was thinking _soil_ fertility, but about three seconds into the dance I changed my mind. I'm not even sure they needed the help of a God – I think the dance promotes the next year's "harvest" all by itself…"

Reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, she spoke next to his ear, voice like melted dark chocolate. "It was really _hot_."

She smelled faintly of foliage and sweat, pheromones that had Daniel's mind instantly conjuring up images of Bacchanalian rites.

That did it. He backed her up toward a shower stall and turned it on. She cocked her head and smirked. He simply reached behind her to snap the clasp on her bra.

"One handed…" she teased. "You've been practising."

"Yes, I come over when you're out and strap that really difficult one to a chair in the kitchen." She gave a snort of laughter as he ran her underwear down her legs. Her hands clenched in his hair as he knelt in front of her and bit her hip gently.

"Where do you want me?" he asked, voice rough with desire.

"Everywhere," she replied. Her eyes looked black from where he was.

He nuzzled her, causing her to grab his shoulders. "Daniel, you go down on me and my knees will give way," she warned.

She stepped back under the warm water and he almost crawled after her. Instead he stood swiftly and followed. Her head met the shower wall as his lips met hers, softly to begin with and then fiercer.

"Missed you," he gasped as she moved to nip at his collarbone. He lifted her, hands on her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around him with a sigh.

"I can tell," she murmured, illustrating her point by tilting her hips. He shifted, slipping against her, making her hiss, and then he was there and she was sliding down around him.

His first thrust was slow, deliberate, delicious. She made an incoherent noise and it vibrated through him as he pressed his cheek to her throat. The second thrust was deeper, harder, and it felt so damn good that he didn't register the cracking of tiles until he felt her shift backwards.

A frozen moment and then Janet swore, eloquently. He shut off the shower, reversed slowly, and disengaged. A number of splintered tiles dropped to the floor and shattered. They both skittered clear and stared at the damage in horror.

"I think we should…leave," he advised.

"Bonk and run?" she snorted. "Nice."

He waved his hands in alarm. "I am _not_ explaining this to General Hammond!"

She paled.

Right.

He yanked his trousers on. "I vote for the closet next time."


	2. After the Washroom

**A/N:** This follow-on piece is based on a prompt: _Before the Closet - a companion piece of sorts, at any point in the future, when the scenario is slightly reversed - Daniel is/has been off-world witnessing a similar "party" and then comes back very intent on finding Janet._

xxxx

Cleaning the house wasn't high on Janet Fraiser's list of enjoyable activities, but it needed doing. Besides, she was finding that since becoming romantically involved with Daniel Jackson, anything enjoyable just wasn't quite the same without him around.

And he wasn't around now. Wasn't even on Earth, and not due back home for another 17 hours. She wasn't counting. Or moping. Just vacuuming on her day off. She blew hair out of her face.

It was probably just as well she wasn't on duty, she thought later, in light of what had happened the last time.

When the power suddenly cut, she checked the entertainment system for the standby indicator. It glowed red, so she repeatedly hit the button on the vacuum. No dice. She nearly growled with frustration.

The faint jangle of keys made her start. She whirled.

"Daniel!"

He was holding the plug. She'd never even heard the door. At least there was an explanation for the power that didn't involve getting a new machine...

It occurred to her that he hadn't said anything yet. In fact, he was staring at her, his expression unreadable beyond its intensity.

"Daniel?" she said, uncertainly.

"Uh," he croaked. _Croaked?_ She hoped he wasn't getting sick.

"Are you alright?"

"You remember P3C-984?" he tried again.

She couldn't say she did. "Umm, not really..." she rifled through her mental filing cabinet. She didn't really have the spare space for missions with archaeological significance.

Daniel dropped the vacuum cable and took a step towards her. She took an automatic step back to match, keeping the vacuum between them. His strange behaviour was worrying her.

"We went back. SG-1."

"Okay. -984? Oh, wait, maybe..." She thought she remembered a mission briefing. With SG-8. She frowned. "You didn't even go, it wa-"

Running through the events of the mission, her brain suddenly skidded to a halt.

The fertility dance. The _very effective_ fertility dance. And the washroom, afterwards.

Oh, God.

When Daniel stepped towards her again, she didn't move. The hairs on her arms stood up, her suddenly taut skin almost painful as he got close enough to touch. He smelled musky and dark. Masculine.

He reached past her to tug the vacuum handle from her grip. She watched, hyper aware of him; his radiating heat, his fingers so close to hers. She realised he was being very careful not to touch her. For an instant, the fear was back - was he compromised somehow? On his way back up, he stopped, chin almost touching her temple.

"If I touch you, it's all over," he whispered, almost hoarse. She pulled back a little, caught his eye. No, not compromised, just displaying some impressive willpower.

This was _so_ much better than being at the SGC.

"Where do you want me?" she whispered back.

"Everywhere," he replied, deliberately echoing their exchange in the washroom.

He hovered, inhaling deeply. She had stupidly washed her hair when she got up, only to change into her old jeans and shirt and start cleaning. Now, she was never more grateful for her lack of forward planning. She had discovered early on in their relationship that lime-scented shampoo was a powerful weapon in her arsenal. Janet felt his fingers slide into her hair, gently gripping to tilt her head back.

Her breath caught. He ran his eyes over her face, pausing to hold her gaze, finally ending with her lips. Unconsciously, she licked them. When he leaned in, she was so sure he would kiss her. She closed her eyes. Instead he pressed his mouth to her neck, just under her ear. She hummed.

The gentle bite he gave her earlobe sent lightening straight to her pelvis. Until that moment, she hadn't seriously considered that this would end up anywhere except their bedroom, despite her previously whispered question. His answer echoed in her addled mind. _Everywhere._ It was a distinct possibility; she could feel his laboured breathing, and she wasn't far behind herself.

And, God help her, she was tempted as all get out.

Apart from the hand tangled in her hair, he still wasn't really touching her. While he trailed kisses along her neck and jaw, she reached for his idle hand. He stopped his ministrations, a warning growl faintly audible. Vowing to make him growl more often, she brought his hand to her hip. As an afterthought, she slipped it up under the material of her shirt so that, while his palm lay against denim, his fingers burned her skin.

He hissed.

His fingers gripped, briefly, then he removed his hand from under her clothing, knuckles trailing against her ribs. His lips met hers as his hand cradled her breast. She gripped at his shirt, mainly to avoid falling backwards. The fingers in her hair ran down her back and slid inside the waistband of her jeans. They didn't offer as much resistance as they should have, but then, considering what he was capable of with a bra clasp, it shouldn't have come as a surprise to find that he'd managed to undo them.

Janet found this stage the least sexy; semi-dressed with items of clothing bunched up. At least she was barefoot and stepping out of jeans would be easy. Except Daniel had her under some kind of spell. She used her body to apply a little pressure and, plastered together, they moved back. His hand returned to her jaw.

With the fuller contact, she could feel his contours, all hard frame and firm angles. Breaking the kiss, he turned his head, scanning. Objecting to the interruption, she turned her head and nipped at his hand. His head snapped back.

"Ow," he mouthed, not looking at all displeased. "What surface in here won't involve splintering noises?"

Tempted or not, the bed was definitely going to be the most comfortable. She tugged him. "Stairs."

He considered for a moment.

"You'll wreck your knees."

The image of them actually _on the stairs_ - her spine arched, head tipped back on his shoulder as he thrust with that delicious focussed expression on his face - flashed through her mind. Ok, so the bed was out, being both far too ordinary and far too far away.

She tugged him in the opposite direction, lifting an eyebrow.

"_My_ knees?" she challenged.

His eyes slanted to the rug she was vaguely aiming for. His grin was approving.

"We'll work up to the stairs, 'kay? Throw a couple of cushions down."

She blinked at him. He was serious. Stepping away, she drew the curtains. No need to scare the mailman.

"You know, when _you_ came back, it was all over by now," he grumbled.

She grinned. "Instant gratification takes too long."

Returning to him, she slipped her arms around him from behind and tugged his t-shirt over his head.

"Better?"

He made an unconvinced-sounding noise. As she kissed his shoulder blade, her hands slid down his torso and into his pants. He was silk and steel against her fingers and the rush of desire was strong enough to cause her to leave little indentations on his back where her teeth had been. She felt his hands over hers, working his fly, as he adjusted his stance. Cupping his balls briefly - smirking at the way his hips bucked - she withdrew one hand and slid it in between their bodies, working the buttons on her shirt.

His hips were moving rhythmically now, in counterpoint to her stroking fingers. Against her knee, she could feel his left leg shaking slightly. He groaned, low and soft. Finished with her shirt, she hesitated momentarily, then ran her hand lower, past the waistband of her underwear. Even though she had the control, the contact still made her gasp. Rising up on her toes, she pressed herself more firmly into Daniel's back, pinning her hand. Multi-tasking was her speciality, but the pressure built up so very fast, and as she started to crest, she was aware her other hand had stopped moving.

Daniel's fingers closed around her wrist, pulling her hand from his pants, but she wasn't tracking enough to do much about it.

"You're not playing fair," he said, turning to face her.

"Not my fault," she mumbled, as he laid his hand over hers, moving their fingers together. Already on the edge, she pulled away, hoping he would take the initiative. She hooked her arm under his, fingers gripping his shoulder, curving her other hand to his elbow. He knew her well enough to read the signs, slick fingers pushing deeper as her body clenched.

By the time she could breathe again, he was already out of his pants and pushing her shirt open to get at her bra.

"Front, front," she gasped, directing him to the clasp, and she could tell by the way his normally-controlled hands were fumbling that he needed relief badly.

He knelt, dragging her underwear down, then pulled her down too with an arm around her waist. Kneeling together, they traded fierce kisses. He trailed his hands down from shoulder to thigh and back up, then urged her back. With his hands either side of her head and elbows locked, he matched his frame to her smaller one. She found his feet with hers, pushing her soles to the bridges of his, and he ducked his head to her breast, lips closing on her nipple.

Canting her hips, she brought one leg up to hook it over his hip. Her heel locked into the small of his back. He lifted his head and their eyes locked. He shifted, she rocked her hips again and, there, he was there, filling her.

When he moved, she could see the play of muscles and tendons in his neck and shoulders.

"I'm a big supporter..." he ground out, between thrusts, "...of chivalry..."

"I think you've been patient enough," she interrupted. "Besides, _I'm_ a big supporter of rough quickies. As you well know."

She dropped her leg from his hip and brought the other knee up in invitation. He kissed her, hard, and shifted his weight, freeing up one arm, which he hooked under her bent knee. Pressing against her more firmly, he took up a faster rhythm, driving into her, hard and deep. His strokes became more erratic, finesse replaced by blinding need. She reached around her thigh to cup his balls. He made an incoherent noise against her skin, then spasmed and bit her shoulder. She might've yelped, except he kept thrusting, rhythm jerky, determined to bring her over the edge with him. Her climax was still building when he spasmed again, his groan cut off by her mouth on his.

She moved both hands to his ass, keeping the pressure, but he pushed up on his arms and withdrew so fast that she was left gasping. About to object, she grabbed blindly for him, but he had wriggled out of reach. A frustrated groan made it past her lips, morphing into delight when his arms hooked under her knees again, hands gripping her hips as his tongue pressed against her.

She pushed her head back, hard, into the carpet, and meshed her fingers into his hair. Three swipes of his tongue and her orgasm crashed over her, roaring in her ears. Her hand fisted in his hair.

"Hnnngg," was about all she could manage.

"Oh yeah. Very hnnngg."

When she was able to push up to an elbow, Daniel was smirking at her, obviously rather pleased with himself.

"I take great pleasure in reducing you to monosyllabic nonsense."

"I can tell," she smirked back.

"Do you think one of those chairs would take the both of us?" he mused, nodding towards the kitchen.

She opened her mouth, intending to be the voice of reason, but her mind helpfully offered another image to go with the one on the stairs.

_Everywhere_. She could go with that.


End file.
